


Foxtrot Unicron Charlie Kilo

by Dandybear



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Charlie Watson fucked a car, F/M, Mechaphilia, Sorry Not Sorry, This One's For Lindsay Ellis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 04:45:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17379827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandybear/pseuds/Dandybear
Summary: She’s always said the ideal way to lose one’s virginity is in the back of a bitchin’ Camaro. She’s never thought she’d lose her virginity to the bitchin’ Camaro. It’s just as well, she’s never had the who in mind so much as the how, and removing some greasy guy from picture just makes it more idyllic.





	Foxtrot Unicron Charlie Kilo

**Author's Note:**

> *sighs and crosses mechaphilia porn off my fanfiction bingo card* This exists because there is no other porn of these two, and Gandhi said to be the change you want to see in the world, or something.
> 
> I've spent a lot of time thinking about the implications of Charlie having sex with Camaro Bee rather than VW Bug Bee and the conclusion that I've come to is that I am very tired.
> 
> Where does this take place in continuity? Uhhh mumble something about Bee being unable to stay away and coming back to hang out before Charlies leaves for college. IT'S PWP WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

She’s always said the ideal way to lose one’s virginity is in the back of a bitchin’ Camaro. She’s never thought she’d lose her virginity to the bitchin’ Camaro. It’s just as well, she’s never had the who in mind so much as the how, and removing some greasy guy from picture just makes it more idyllic.

Bee’s leather seats creak under the force of her fingers, gripping and squeezing. He buzzes and purrs while she has her head thrown back, lips parted and gasping for air. She’s straddling the console, between her legs is his stick, pushed there and locked in place as he revs his engine, the pressure and the vibration driving her closer and closer to the edge of a cliff.

It’s payback, and well deserved, for her digging into his sparks making him screech and sputter. She wasn’t sure what she was doing with it, until Bee’s circuits shorted and he arched and twitched in a creak of metal, then looked at her through bleary blue eyes.

And, Charlie thought, _“I just gave my robot alien an orgasm,”_ and held up the jumper cables sheepishly.

Since then, Bee’s been pushing his luck with her physically. Picking her up more, sliding metal fingers into the bottoms of her shorts and scraping over her breasts. His radio comes to life with Marvin Gaye and The Cure. They’re Lovecats _‘we bite and scratch and scream all night’._ He finds the music that gets her motor going and drives fast and hard.

“Just the… w a y///zzzt/// you like it?” he says.

Charlie reaches down to stroke the stick between her legs, “Yes.”

“Short--ss off?” he suggests.

That catches her off guard. If someone were to come by and find her alone in her car, that’s not so suspicious. Alone and ass out is a lot harder to explain. That and well, rubbing herself on Bee’s stick through her shorts is a wonderful tease, but inside?

“I’ll be gentle,” her own voice says back to her.

Charlie takes a deep breath. Point of no return. Despite the hesitation, she’s more tempted to relent than to chicken out.

“Okay, let up for a second,” she says.

Her chest heaves as she gets up on fawn legs, glancing around the empty shoulder of the highway as if waiting for some hook handed serial killer or patrol to pull in and catch them. Nothing, just the sea breeze and the tossing of grass. She rolls her lips and plucks at the button of her jeans. Now or never. Kicking her shorts and underwear off is oddly liberating, if a little cold. She shakily lowers herself back onto the console and bites her lower lip.

“Shit, Bee,” there’s no barrier between her skin and him. He’s chrome, plastic, and leather.

His stick is back and more insistent, pressing against her slit and catching the fluid there.

“You ready big boy?” she tries for sultry, but comes out as nervous.

“In si(gh) d e you,” he’s buzzing with excitement.

Charlie takes the stick in hand, trying to get the angle right. There’s a slick itch, some discomfort, and pressure. She bites her lip and pushes harder, then Bee adjusts his direction and there’s a slide that hits her right in the gut. The head is so thick that she can feel herself stretching around it.

“Bumblebee,” she moans.

She doesn’t know if he can feel it, but she squeezes harder on the pull out before pushing back in. After the first few thrusts, she gets into a rhythm that’s eye crossingly good.

Bee goes to work, radio switching rapidly.

“Relax--when you wanna come--zzzt--oh sugar sugar you are my candy girl!//^she’s so fine she blows my mind!”

“You really, hnff, know how to compliment a girl,” she grunts.

The console jumps beneath her, thrusting harder. Charlie chokes on air, “Fuck! Bee!”

He seems to take that as an imperative more than caution, because the console goes from jumping to hammering. The head of his stick stays inside her, she’s just bouncing up and down on the shaft now and holding on for dear life. There’s no stretch anymore, just a building pressure and pleasing slap where their bodies are joined.

“Bee,” she repeats like a prayer.

“Clap hands, here comes Charlie,” he repeats.

“I’m, I’m gonna--”

“Here comes Charlie.”

She grips his seats, one in each hand, and squeezes.

Bee revs his engine, sending a jolt of vibration up through her, then it’s all over. She lurches over the cliff, clamping down on the stick inside her and grinding. Bee screeches and Charlie feels a spark. For a moment everything goes black.

When she comes to a minute later, she feels slick, sore, and a little embarrassed. She’s ascended as a gearhead by losing her virginity to a car.

“You… okay?” Bee asks.

“Yeah,” she pats him as she slides off his stick, aching at his absence. He also makes a whine.

“Thanks for the ride,” she says, wincing as she turns and flops bonelessly into the front seat.

“Again! Soon?” he asks.

“Insatiable, aren’t you, Big Bot?” she strokes his seat.

“For you,” he croons.

“Mmm, Charmer.”

On the drive home she feels like everyone will be able to see it on her face. Charlie Watson fucked a car. She’s a car fucker.

They sneak into the garage, careful not to set the dog off. Charlie climbs out, yipping when Bumblebee’s door swats her ass playfully. She turns to shoot him a reprimanding look and is met with the opening piano of The Carpenters.

_"Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?"_

She just lost her virginity to this corny robot. He transforms, the picture of innocence.

“Goodnight, Bee,” she says, keeping her eyes lowered as she kisses his faceplate and then heads off to bed.

Charlie tosses and turns for half an hour before getting back up. The face in the bathroom mirror that greets her is still her own. Just with knowledge of the forbidden fruit.

“I’m still me,” she whispers.

Bumblebee’s on the floor watching _Fast Times at Ridgemont High_ when she comes back into the garage wrapped in a blanket and wearing mismatched socks.

He coos and buzzes, opening his arms up for her to use him as a seat. She sighs, flopping back against him and feeling sleep catch up to her.

“Think I might move my bed out here,” she says offhandedly through a yawn.

“Sleep///better?”

She nods, “Yeah.”

Bee puffs himself up and she nestles deeper down against him. Face planting effectively into his chest plate. The movie goes on for a bit longer, long enough for her to be comfortably in the space between sleep and wakefulness, but then there’s the pop of the TV being turned off and the sand falling sound of the static settling. The room goes dark instead of pale blue, and Bee reclines so they’re both lying down.

“Goodnight Bee,” she mumbles against his chassis.

“Goodnight^^Charlie,” he replies.

 

* * *

 

Charlie wakes up chilly and with a crick in her neck. Moving lets her know that the spot between her legs is even more sore. Right, she might be the only person in the world with this experience. Maybe not the car fucking, but the sentient, consenting robot car fucking. She can’t be sure that the Decepticons didn’t get it on with anyone, but if they did she’s pretty sure she’s in a minority.

No shame. Just being cool about it. She might even be a little proud. This attitude follows her to the street to pick up the morning paper in her mismatched socks and kimono.

“I fucked my car,” she whispers, building confidence with each repetition.

“Morning, Charlie!” Memo calls from next door.

“I fucked my car!” she replies.

God, that was out loud.

“What?”

“Never mind!” she speed walks back inside.


End file.
